


Noon, on a Thursday

by lovelyleftovers



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, KuroKen - Freeform, M/M, Smidge Of Angst, THESE TWO THO, tiny mention of bokuto cuz i'm weak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 09:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6899797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyleftovers/pseuds/lovelyleftovers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He climbs the stairs, hands tightening unconsciously on the strap of his bag before he approaches Kuroo’s open door.</p><p>Kenma isn’t sure what he expected to find, but it wasn’t this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Noon, on a Thursday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shions_heart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shions_heart/gifts).



> Heeeeey.
> 
> I know I've basically dropped off the face of the planet. But. May 15th was Sy's (shions_heart's) birthday, and Sy is an amazing writer who I really love and admire, so I wanted to give her some fluffy KuroKen to celebrate her existence! Because we should love and appreciate people even when it's not their birthdays, amirite? SO THANK YOU FOR EXISTING, SY, AND SHARING YOUR ART WITH US AND OMG CAN I BE ANY MORE OF AN AWKWARD FANGIRL RN.
> 
>  
> 
> shions-heart.tumblr.com
> 
>  
> 
> More notes at the bottom to keep ya'll posted on the status of my other fics.

The knot in Kenma’s stomach tightens a little further the longer he stands at the front door. 

He’d thought it odd when his mom had woken him up with a, “It’s rare that Tetsu-kun isn’t here by now. Maybe he slept in?” 

Dragging himself out of the cozy warmth of his bed, he’d tried not to worry. He’d tried to ignore the knot in his stomach as he’d splashed slightly-too-cold water on his face to help wake him up.

But the knot only grew tighter when two of his texts went unanswered. When he’d actually made himself breakfast—just a banana and some toast, he wasn’t about to go crazy—and put on his shoes.

Then his call had rung all the way to voicemail.

He contemplates the woodgrain on the door for another few moments before checking his phone again. He knows it hasn’t gone off, but now they are definitely going to be late.  
His stomach feels a little too tight thanks to the anxiety trolling under his skin, but he forces himself to take a deep breath.

When he exits his house, he hangs a right, heading the opposite way as the train station. Kuroo’s house is just a few down from his, and he knows that his parents will already be at work.

He’s probably just sleeping, Kenma thinks, though the few times that had happened, his calls had always woken Kuroo up. There is something inside Kenma that is telling him he is in uncharted territory, something he hasn’t felt towards Kuroo in years. He finds he doesn’t like feeling it now even less than he had back then.

Kenma checks his phone one more time before opening the front door without knocking.

Kuroo’s shoes are neatly placed by the door. Kenma slips his off and sets them down next to Kuroo’s. He tries to swallow past the lump in his throat. The house is quiet in a way that Kenma usually adores, all warm spaces filled with a comfort that is identical to his own home. But now that silence feels oppressive.

He climbs the stairs, hands tightening unconsciously on the strap of his bag before he approaches Kuroo’s open door.

Kenma isn’t sure what he expected to find, but it wasn’t this.

Kuroo is seated on the edge of his bed, hunched over, elbows resting on his knees. One hand is spread over his forehead, supporting his downturned face, while the other holds his cellphone loosely between his fingers, dangling the device over the carpet. He had pulled on his uniform pants, but his shirt, tie, and vest are tossed haphazardly on his desk chair. He is still in his sleep shirt, an old one with cats all over it that Kenma had bought him a few birthdays back.

Kenma intensely hates the fact that he feels awkward right now. Kuroo is his best friend, his strong, unwavering support system. He hasn’t seemed this vulnerable since his grandparents had died suddenly in a car accident—but he, or his parents, would have reached out and told Kenma if something like that had happened…right?

Unease slides through Kenma’s veins like an oil spill. _What_ is _this?_

After a few long moments, he manages to speak: “Hey.”

He expected Kuroo to startle. Instead, he gives a loud sigh, swiping a hand over his face as he glances towards his door. A shock goes through Kenma as he takes in red-rimmed eyes and lips that are swollen and raw from being chewed.

Kuroo breaks eye contact and rubs the back of his head. He clears his throat. And again.

Before Kenma can fully process what’s happening, he hears his bag hit the floor with a heavy _thud._ He can’t see Kuroo’s expression, because he’s already advancing towards the bed, slipping out of his vest and loosening his tie enough to slip it—and his button down—over his head.

He finally meets Kuroo’s eyes as his pants hit the floor at the foot of Kuroo’s bed. He’s sitting taller, golden eyes watching Kenma shrewdly. Kenma thinks that if there’s a question there, it’s answered when he crawls up the bed and burrows his face in one of Kuroo’s pillows. He tries to attribute the butterflies he feels to the strangeness of the situation instead of the dark, spicy scent of Kuroo’s cologne clinging to the sheets beneath him. Dealing with His Own Feelings Towards Kuroo is not first on his list of priorities right now.

Kenma thinks he hears something like a whimper escape Kuroo, and staying still is all he can do to control the wild plunking of his heart against his ribcage. The weight on the bed shifts, and Kenma hears the rustle of what he thinks is Kuroo sliding out of his own pants. 

After another long moment, he ducks under the blanket next to Kenma, nuzzling the bridge of his nose into the sleeve of Kenma’s undershirt, pressing his face right into the small round of Kenma’s shoulder. Neither of them speak, though Kenma wonders if his breathing is smooth enough to be considered normal, considering they’ve had barely any physical contact. 

Eventually Kuroo turns his face the other way, his body shifting so that his side and Kenma’s are touching solidly from ankle to shoulder.  


It takes Kenma a good while to fall asleep, as nervous and confused as he is, but when he does it’s with the comfort of Kuroo’s heat pressing into his skin.

 

The sun is different in the room when Kenma peels his eyes open again. He yawns, a little of his voice chirping out with it, and shifts his arms together under the pillow so he can arch his spine. Kuroo rolls onto his back at the movement, humming as Kenma resettles into the mattress with a sleepy wiggle.

He buries his face back into the pillow, only keeping his eyes above the fabric to search the side of Kuroo’s face. His eye isn’t so puffy, and judging from the way his body is exuding its usual quiet energy, he’s feeling a little better after their nap. Kenma wants to lift Kuroo’s arm around his shoulders and bury into his side, but he resists the instinct.

“They’re gonna be pissed that we’re missing practice,” Kuroo comments after a minute.

“It’ll be fine,” Kenma says.

Kuroo glances sheepishly at Kenma. There’s a tension between them that Kenma doesn’t like. It feels like something left unsaid. 

“Feeling better?” Kenma’s voice is too quiet for his own liking.

Something softens in Kuroo’s gaze, the brightness morphing into something duller, more tired. “Yeah.”

“You don’t have to tell me.” Kenma averts his eyes so he doesn’t have to see that expression on Kuroo’s face. It pulls at something in his chest in a weird way. “But. I’d like to listen.”

Kenma can feel Kuroo’s gaze on the side of his face. He burrows his mouth into the pillow, staring intently at the headboard. Why do his ears feel so hot? he wonders. It’s not like they haven’t already spilled every inch of their guts to each other already. Still, when Kuroo takes a deep breath, it causes Kenma to hold his.

The loud, unhappy gurgle of Kuroo’s stomach shatters the tension like a hammer through a window.

Kenma turns his most unimpressed stare onto Kuroo, who is looking rather surprised himself. He sighs and kicks the blankets off of them, scooting to the bottom of the bed to circumvent the impressive wall of Kuroo’s body.

Kenma makes it to the door before he turns around. “Lunch,” he says in the general direction of Kuroo’s still form and unreadable expression.

Kenma tries to tamper his frustration as he roots around Kuroo’s fridge. He rubs at his eyes and squints at the neat handwriting on each leftover container, something Kuroo’s mom has been doing for as long as he’d known them. She is organized to an insane degree, which is a nice break from his own mother’s scattered style. It's nice, feeling like he has two families, two homes.

Before he could follow that train of thought down a dangerous (and unnecessary) path—it’s not like he hasn’t been over it a million times before—Kuroo’s footsteps sound on the stairs.

Kenma grabs whatever looks best and throws the container into the microwave. Kuroo grabs a water bottle from the fridge and joins Kenma. They watch the food spin, the hum of the machine filling the silence between them.

Kuroo takes a swig from the bottle, and Kenma watches him out of the corner of his eye while he contemplates the label.

“I’m not ready.”

Kenma hates how small Kuroo’s voice sounds. His fingers curl around the impulse to slap him back to Regular Kuroo.

“For?” He’s so impressed with how even his voice sounds.

Kuroo releases a deep breath. “Anything.”

They fall quiet again as the food stops cooking. Kenma pulls it from the microwave, and Kuroo hands him a set of chopsticks. They eat together in silence, pushing each other’s favorite ingredients towards each other.

As they stand in Kuroo’s kitchen, barefoot in boxers, hunched over leftovers at noon on a Thursday, Kenma realizes with something akin to desperation that he’s not ready, either. He’s not ready to be a third year. He’s not ready for the team’s dynamic to shift once more. Mostly, he’s not ready for Kuroo to go to university an hour and a half away. 

He peeks up at Kuroo’s face after that last selfish thought. He’s been in love with Kuroo for years now, since middle school, but catching Kuroo with his tongue down a girl’s throat at the start of high school had firmly killed any desire for Kenma to confess—he likes their easiness too much. He loves _this_ too much. When Kuroo’s eyes meet his, Kenma can’t help but look away. He hopes the heat in his face isn’t translating to something that could give Kuroo pause.

When the food is gone, Kuroo throws the container into the sink, and Kenma follows him up the stairs. He throws his school clothes to the side, sitting heavily in his desk chair. 

Kenma all but dives back into the bed and burritos himself in the comforter.

Kuroo huffs a laugh. “The older we get, the more I’m convinced that you’re actually a cat.”

Kenma wants to glare, but he ends up just appreciating the view. Kuroo’s long legs are spread out, and his boxers have hiked up a little on his thighs. Kenma’s brain files that image away for later as his thoughts turn towards something more serious.

“Your university isn’t that far away.”

Kenma watches Kuroo swallow heavily, his gaze moving off towards something Kenma can’t see.

He takes a deep breath and continues, “Chemistry was a great choice of major: you’re gifted at it, and your knowledge will be far above your peers. And you’ll be living and playing volleyball with Koutarou. You won’t be alone.”

He wants to say more, but he’s stopped by Kuroo’s shaky hand pinching over his eyes. Kenma can’t tell if he’s crying or not. The thought makes him feel sick and breathless anyway, like someone is steadily squeezing the air from his lungs.

“You _are_ ready.” Kenma hates that his voice cracks over the words. 

Kuroo attempts a smile, but ends up pressing his lips together. He breathes out heavily through his nose.

After a few moments, Kenma emerges from his blanket hovel and sits on the edge of the bed. He toes the soft carpet and eyes Kuroo’s rigid form.

After another heartbeat, Kuroo moves from the chair to his knees, settling in front of Kenma. He wraps his arms around Kenma’s waist, giving him a squeeze as he buries his face into Kenma’s stomach.

His hands only hover over Kuroo for a moment before he strokes them lightly over the shirt on Kuroo’s shoulders, tracing up into the soft thickness of his hair. Kenma wills his heart to stop chattering—accompanied by the frantic _please don’t get a boner,_ please _don’t get a boner right now_ thoughts dredged up by Kuroo’s hot, heavy weight between his thighs and warm breath puffing through his shirt. 

He’s snapped out of his privately awkward moment by Kuroo’s voice rumbling unintelligibly. 

“What?” Kenma asks. When Kuroo doesn’t respond, Kenma tugs at his hair sharply. “What did you say?”

Kuroo laughs a little as his face tips back to look at Kenma. “I said, ‘What am I going to do without you?’”

Kenma’s heart stops for all of two seconds. He manages to give Kuroo a dead-eyes stare. “That’s not funny.”

“It’s not meant to be.” Kuroo sits back, his arms slipping to hug Kenma’s legs below his knees. He presses his cheek against Kenma’s thigh and closes his eyes. “Everyone keeps saying about how you’ll do when I’m gone. Like I’m the one taking care of you.”

Kenma feels his brows furrow. “You are. I mean, honestly, I probably wouldn’t eat or have a social life without you.”

Kuroo’s lips twitch. “It’s just different.”

Kenma scowls and flicks Kuroo’s ear. “Don’t be cryptic.”

They lock eyes as Kuroo sits up fully. His hands settle on Kenma’s knees, and, _wow,_ he is feeling so touchy today, and while Kenma isn’t totally surprised, he wishes he weren’t getting put into such an emotional place because of it. He wants to focus. Whatever is building between them in this moment, he knows it’s important.

“You make me feel…” His fingers tap nervously against Kenma’s skin, but Kuroo maintains unwavering eye contact. “Stable, I guess. Like, when you’re around, I know the ground is solid under me, and that no matter what I can depend on you. And you can depend on me.”

“You can depend on Koutarou,” Kenma says slowly.

Kuroo shakes his head. His hair flops down and obscures one beautiful golden eye from Kenma. “It’s not the same.”

“It is.”

“It isn’t.”

Kenma sighs, brushing Kuroo’s bangs back before he thinks better of it. “Explain it, then.”

“You know me better than anyone. I mean, I didn’t have to say a fucking word this morning, and you just took it in stride,” Kuroo points out.

“Koutarou could learn your cues. Everyone has them.”

Kuroo’s mouth scrunches up in frustration before he sighs, relaxing. He puts his chin on his hands and stares at Kenma’s stomach. “Kenma, you’re basically an extension of me at this point. I don’t even know who I am without you.”

Jesus, if Kenma can make it through today without crying or having a heart attack, he deserves a reward, he decides. 

He puts his hands behind him and leans back, thinking over Kuroo’s words and struggling with objectivity. I don’t know who I am without you, either, he wants to say. Let’s never find out, he aches to say.

“That sounds unhealthy,” he says instead.

Kuroo lifts his head but his gaze slides to the side. “Is it unhealthy if I like it that way?”

Kenma’s heart fails in his chest. He’s definitely going to have a heart attack.

Kuroo’s blushing from his ears down to his collarbone by the time Kenma manages to have a coherent thought and clears his throat. “Kuro.”

Kuroo refuses to look at him. Kenma takes a deep breath and steels himself. God, all he wants to do is kiss his stupid, adorable face. Wouldn’t that be answer enough?

Kenma’s breath sounds shaky to his own ears. “Tetsurou.”

Kuroo’s eyes snap to his then, widening so Kenma can see every single fleck of brown and green in them, before he sets his palms on Kuroo’s cheeks and slides their mouths together.

As far as first kisses go, Kenma thinks this one is alright. He can feel Kuroo’s breath pushing out hot little puffs of air against his face, and his hands are squishing Kuroo’s cheeks enough that his lips are plump and pliable under his own. When he realizes that Kuroo isn’t reacting, panic blooms like a blood stain across the inside of his chest.

When he pulls back, Kuroo rises up and chases his mouth. Their second kiss is much more interactive, and in some distant place in Kenma’s mind, he thinks that Kuroo tastes like the food from earlier, which isn’t wholly unpleasant, but he wishes he could taste more of _Kuroo,_ especially as his tongue darts across Kenma’s bottom lip and _oh_ —

It isn’t long before Kenma is being pushed back into the mattress, Kuroo hovering over him as Kenma peppers little kisses over his face and neck.

“God, Kenma, I love you, I’m _in love_ with you, this is just—”

Kenma silences his babbling with his mouth, pretending like the slow depth of the kiss isn’t making him shake under Kuroo, like those words weren’t about to take him apart brick by brick.

“I love you, too.” Kenma’s breathless declaration is met with a choked whine from above him. He chuckles and noses at the hollow of Kuroo’s throat. “So stop being stupid and _tell me_ when you’re about to freak out. I don’t like feeling out of the loop. And I don’t like when you let things bother you until they break you.”

“Yeah, okay.” 

Kuroo goes to kiss him again, but Kenma stops him with a hand on his chest (as much as he wants to just pull Kuroo’s heavy body down on him like an overexcited blanket and enact some of his tamer fantasies right now).

“And you’re not going to be without me,” Kenma declares. His voice and gaze are steady as he fists Kuroo’s shirt. “Because boyfriends make time for each other, even when they’re long distance.”

Kuroo mouths the word ‘boyfriends’ before his eyes flash and get a little too shiny. He buries his face in the crook of Kenma’s neck.

“I swear, you’ll kill me one day. I can’t handle all this emotional bullshit,” Kenma mutters.

If Kuroo hears the hot shake in Kenma’s voice, he doesn’t say. Kenma releases an unsteady breath into Kuroo’s hair and thinks, yes, maybe he’s a little more ready to move forward than he thought.

**Author's Note:**

> I literally wrote this fic in one go, and it's the shortest thing I've ever written for publication here--I hope it's good, because I put a lot of love into it!
> 
> So, in other Haikyuu!! fic news, I was faithfully updating the KageHina saga Smoke that Roams, until I was just like "bye" and ghosted. Well the reason is that I wrapped up my first year of grad school, moved back home, and started a new job within a week. I've just had to decompress and get rid of the post MFA Year One "Literally everything I write is shit, how can I call myself a writer, I'm going to be afraid of the blank page and only binge read super awesome fics, watch Ace of the Diamond, and go to work" phase of my life.
> 
> Obviously I'm revived. Halfway. A little bit. This is the first thing I've written in a month. I feel like I screwed up a little with STR, which is why I've been avoiding the next update, but I'll get there. Maybe this week a new chapter will be posted? Eh?
> 
> Thanks for reading, and as always, I'm gonna obsessively check my email for comments ( ˘ ³˘)♥
> 
> http://positivecomet.tumblr.com/


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